


Don'tcha Want Some Of This

by casstayinmyass



Category: Marilyn Manson (Band), Mechanical Animals - Marilyn Manson (Album)
Genre: Anal Sex, Awkward Sexual Situations, Bathroom Sex, Bisexual Manson, Blow Jobs, Bottom Marilyn, Boys Kissing, Concerts, Dom/sub Undertones, Drug Addiction (non angsty), Drug Use, Drunken Kissing, Explicit Sexual Content, Feelings Realization, Friends to Lovers, Gay Panic, Hotel Sex, M/M, Manson Is An Absolute Dick, Masturbation, Mechanical Animals Era, Oral Sex, Orgasm Denial, Porn with Feelings, Public Blow Jobs, Recreational Drug Use, Resolved Sexual Tension, Rough Kissing, Sexual Fantasy, Swearing, Teasing, The Boys Taste Like Boys, Top Twiggy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-03
Updated: 2019-11-03
Packaged: 2021-01-21 02:16:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21291983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/casstayinmyass/pseuds/casstayinmyass
Summary: One onstage blow job goes a little too far, and now both parties involved are questioning everything: if the innocence of their friendship has always been a myth, and when the blow job will be finished.Or the one where Twiggy, gay and confused, tries to be a dom but it backfires horribly.
Relationships: Marilyn Manson/Twiggy Ramirez
Kudos: 29





	Don'tcha Want Some Of This

Twiggy's painted fingernails strummed the strings of the bass guitar he knew like the back of his hand. He played the notes to Rock Is Dead as Marilyn bounced in front of him. It was always a trip watching what the singer would do next, onstage and off, but tonight was spectacular. There was something about his performance that was keeping Twiggy strangely lucid.

This tour, The Last Tour On Earth, had been interesting, both artistically and introspectively. Twiggy had never been one for introspection, because fuck it, he was who he was and if he couldn't admit that to himself, he was fucked. But there were a couple things he had learned about himself. He could now only do nine shots of whiskey instead of ten before the room started spinning (which still pissed him off), his new nosebleed limit was 13 lines of coke (when did he become such an amateur?!), the fact that he still couldn't remember what he named his cat that he was never home to look after, and that there was some asshole he kept thinking of when he jacked off that wouldn't leave him alone. Both in his thoughts and in real life.

Narrowly missing a platform boot to the face, Marilyn was there to kindly remind him he missed a single bass note in The Dope Show. _The Dope Show???_ Jesus, he never even noticed the song change, which was a testament to how mechanical this animal really had become.

The song User Friendly was almost over before Twiggy knew it, but they had a few riffs to go. The crowd was going wild, but this crowd had been particularly insane. Feeding off the energy, Marilyn dropped down to the stage as Twiggy had seen him do so many shows before, grinding his hips up, jacking off the microphone. Twiggy tried to focus on his guitar, looking down, not missing a note. He could feel the vibrations travelling up his ragdoll legs, into his bloodstream.

_Dammit..._ his altered perception of reality was fucking with him. He told himself before every show that it would be the last one he got _this_ high before, but fuck, this really might be it, because now his mind was telling him Marilyn was beckoning him over to join.

_Wait._

Judging by the crowd's sudden reaction, Marilyn was doing SOMETHING, and that something couldn't be good. Twiggy cocked his head a little, and realized after a good twenty seconds that Marilyn was, in fact, beckoning him over. _Shit, he was really going to town with his hips._

Stumbling over, Twiggy let John, Ginger and Pogo take over with a mass echo of distorted instrumental as he dropped to his knees. Marilyn's hips were going, up down, thrusting into the air. Twiggy just stared, slack jawed, until Marilyn grabbed him forcefully by the hair and shoved him between those slender, fish netted legs. God, it was like a lollipop being held out to him, and Twiggy wanted it.

Twiggy had never wanted to suck cock this bad, but he had all kinds of stuff flowing through him. He had snorted some coke prior to hitting the stage, (was that coke? Maybe it was heroin. You're not really supposed to snort heroin, are you? Well, you can. Uma Thurman did it in Pulp Fiction. But look what happened to her… Well. He'd snorted worse anyway). Maybe this was a dream... maybe he was still over in position, playing bass and forgetting that he could very well be hallucinating this entire evening. Heroin doesn't cause hallucinations. He was overthinking this.

Nope. It was happening. He could feel the evidence of Marilyn's arousal against his cheek, and hell if he wasn't going for this.

Feeling around for a few seconds, Twiggy was finally successful in pulling Marilyn's cock out, and he discovered it was only half hard, probably only warmed up from the physical exertion. Maybe this was only for shock value then, but Twiggy was past caring. He tentatively closed his mouth around it, and felt himself stirring as Marilyn's hips lifted even more, almost choking him. He had seen Marilyn change a million times, seen him naked a billion. I mean, every bandmate had seen every other bandmate naked at some point, but this? This was different. 

One hand kept on with the obscene microphone stroking, as the other forced Twiggy to bury his face in Marilyn's crotch. They were on stage, and Marilyn was getting his dick sucked. By him. Holy shit, yes please.

Twiggy could've come right then and there listening to Marilyn's slutty little mewls, noises only he could hear this close onstage amidst the anarchy of the music. Marilyn's hips got wilder, more violent. _Fuck,_ Twiggy thought, _this is my boy to tear apart_... but he couldn't do it now. Marilyn's head lifted, giving him a desperate look as Twiggy pulled back. He was so close, so so close, and he signaled that to Twiggy.

"Later," his bassist mouthed back, and though Marilyn now had a raging hard on, he was forced to get up and keep the show moving, since he couldn't very well actually masturbate on stage. Half of Twiggy was scared of what he'd face later-- Marilyn was a terror when he didn't get his way, especially riding the adrenaline of a show. Twiggy was the only one who could actually handle Marilyn's temper, though it even pushed his limits sometimes. But there was no way in hell Twiggy was about to finish off their set with cum all over his face, no matter whose it was and how bad they bitched.

* * *

The band made the walk back to the dressing room.

Pogo went back to his floor to do god knows what with god knows who. John waved them on, hanging back to talk to a couple giggling girls with huge breasts. Ginger was buzzed, but not on dope-- Ginger's energy was narcotic enough ("A drummer _never_ slows down!"), and he didn't even notice when Marilyn and Twiggy disappeared into the room without him.

Immediately, Marilyn's hands were on Twiggy, pawing at his shirt, nails digging into his pale skin painfully, perfectly. No riot act over not finishing him off. No badly aimed punches. None of the usual threats, kicks or cuss-outs their friendship consisted of. Instead of blood, all Twiggy tasted was cherry, and realized that Marilyn's shiny, seashell pink lipstick was flavored. _Fuck fuck fuck--_

"You're a dick," Marilyn whispered, fingers snaking into Twiggy's costume like curling vines that wanted to open him up from the inside.

"What about my dick?" Twiggy purposely misinterpreted, "It's really nice, you should see it sometime."

"God, you're a fucking asshole."

"Same goes for that too."

Marilyn didn't have to utter the "fuck me". His eyes conveyed everything they needed to. But as he went back in to assault Twiggy's mouth and smear that lipstick even more, he felt a hard shove. Falling backward on his ass, Marilyn sat for a second, stunned.

"Jeordie, man... what the fuck?" the singer asked nervously, wheezing out an uncomfortable chuckle. _Oh, shit._ What if Twiggy saw all that as a stage gimmick? That's what it was supposed to be in the first place, but then shit, Twiggy's mouth was on him like THAT, and Marilyn wasn't quite sure if he was as straight as he'd made himself out to be. What if his best friend thinks he's a fucking weirdo now? _What if he isn't down to fuck?!_ Double shit. He should just make up some dumbass cover story about wanting to practice for the girls they'd bang later.

Twiggy stared down at his friend, how he had his arms wrapped around his knobby knees. Seeing Marilyn so vulnerable in the glamorous Omega persona was rare, and took him back to their Spooky Kids days, when they would stay up all night on Pogo's dingy mattress, smoke weed and tell ghost stories. Where had the time gone?

"Why the fuck are you staring at me like that, dickhole?" Marilyn demanded, starting to get angry. Twiggy avoided the catastrophic explosion that was sure to come by lifting his chin.

"You don't fucking kiss me unless I tell you to," Twiggy spoke in a low, level voice, "You don't do anything unless I tell you to."

In a split second, all of Marilyn's panic and irritation turned to lust. He felt his half mast erection stir again, visible in the tight black rubber underwear he was wearing. He licked his bottom lip, sitting back on his feet and placing his hands on his thighs.

_Okay. This is a development._

Manson took one of his fingers, and used it to part his own lips, sticking it as far back down his throat as it would go and slowly pumping it in and out of his mouth in an obscene display. Twiggy would give him one thing-- he knew how to be the one thing every man or woman ever wanted.

"Got anything you want me to do now?" Marilyn asked.

"I-I got something I wanna do," Twiggy mumbled, then practically fell on top of Marilyn, groping his ass, his cock, his balls, anything he could get his hands on. Marilyn's short little gasps made it all worth it, even if Twiggy could barely see through the fast forward of probably-snortable-heroin-or-maybe-speed.

Neither realized they had stood, but a few minutes later, they were on their way up to Twiggy's room, trying to gasp for breath between ridiculously messy kisses that they hoped no one would see. They finally made it, and collapsed on the hotel linens, making out. Suddenly, they weren't international rockstars anymore but like a couple of horny teenagers, drunk and stupid.

A tapping sound made Twiggy peer down at his chest. Marilyn was tapping out three lines across Twiggy's left nipple, and in a struggle of lanky limbs, he leaned down to snort each one. Twiggy couldn't reach, so Marilyn scooped the rest of the crudely dumped powder onto his hand, where he lined it up for Twiggy to snort too.

"Fu-uck me?" Marilyn groaned, head lolling back as the euphoria of the cocaine raced through his bloodstream.

"Am I... putting it in you... or...?"

"You wanna??" 

"I'm..."

"Just... do it!"

Twiggy's face mashed into Marilyn's as he stuck a hand somewhere that seemed like Marilyn's underwear.

"Mmaffhdjdjf," Twiggy tried to speak against the other man's lips, then everything went black.

* * *

"Where in _fuck’s _name are they?" 

John waited with Ginger. "They seemed pretty gone last night, man," Ginger mentioned.

"When don't they?" John muttered. "I'm checking with Twiggs first. He's usually the source of the hangovers."

In the hotel room, Twiggy stirred. He could feel something interesting underneath the sheets... he didn't really know what it was. Mumbling in his half-awake state of consciousness, he rolled over, coming face to face with Marilyn. The other man was out like a light, pink lips parted wide open in a silent snore, the white pillow smeared with glittery blue and pink makeup.

Twiggy stared, transfixed, at Marilyn's mouth. He looked so perfect like that, so serene and beautiful. He supposed it was the androgyny that did it for him-- that's gotta be it, right? He liked girls. But...

Frowning, he looked down. He could feel something against his leg.

"Oh," he tried not to shudder as he saw what Marilyn was doing. The singer was grinding his morning wood against the bassist's leg, moaning with every roll of his hips.

"Jeord... oh fuck," Marilyn whispered in his sleep. Twiggy couldn't tell if he was dreaming or not, or if mixing heroin and coke just made you hallucinate your wildest fantasies.

John and Ginger got out of the elevator, and walked down to Twiggy's room. Pogo joined them, coming up from the continental breakfast buffet with four donuts.

Four loud bangs. "Dude! We gotta hit the road!"

Twiggy's sharp awakening was accompanied by a snort so loud it sent Marilyn flipping out of bed. A loud thunk later, Twiggy peered cautiously over the edge to see what had come of the singer, eyes wide. A hand flew up and grabbed him by the hair, yanking him down to the floor too. Another loud thud and a distant _owww_, and John sighed.

"How many girls you got in there with you this time?"

Twiggy frowned up at the ceiling, seeing double. That ceiling light looked like a tit. "Tits. Hehe," Twiggy said out loud. There. Now he sounded like himself.

"Just one in here," Marilyn answered in the most effeminate voice he could muster, and Twiggy shouldn't be getting even harder from that. Either way, John fell for it.

"Whoever you are, Twiggy and his dick have to leave now! Really sorry, but no, he won't call you." There was a pause. "I would though."

"Jooohn..." Ginger's voice barely carries.

"Alright, okay. Hurry up Twiggy! And wake Manson up, his room's next to yours and I don't want to touch that prickly goat in the morning!"

Their footsteps got softer as they obviously headed back down to the bus. The two listened to Ginger chatter hyperactively about some paper cut he got that morning until they had disappeared into the elevator and things were quiet once again.

Silence befell the room.

"Fucker called me a goat. I’ll piss in his coffee.”

More silence.

"Did we fuck?" Twiggy asked.

"Nah," Marilyn muttered, deep gravelly morning voice sending Twiggy into fever, "You didn't tell me I was allowed to touch, daddy."

A shaky breath escaped Twiggy's lips as Marilyn got up smirking, bright red hair skewed every which way and underwear sliding halfway down his ass. "But... we couldn't have just fallen asleep. We did enough coke to turn us nocturnal!"

"Yeah, we probably did a little too much, blacked out. It's happened before. Then I think we just like, fell asleep with our faces... on each other's... faces. We didn't fuck. I don't feel any cum dripping out of my asshole, so that's another sure sign." Just to be sure, Marilyn made a show of reaching down to check.

"We could've used a condom."

"A likely story."

"I could've cum in your mouth," Twiggy pointed out, rubbing his face.

"No, no, no. I was the one with MY dick in YOUR mouth, you little asshole. You just never fuckin' finished me off."

An empty beer bottle smashed half an inch away from Twiggy's face against the headboard, and the bassist blinked. There's the rage he had been waiting for.

"Orgasms are just common etiquette when sucking someone off, y'know?" Marilyn went on, picking up another bottle, this one full. "You make sure the person finishes. Especially when one is performing on stage. I had to jump around with my dick flapping til we were done, which was less than comfortable."

"I'm sure the girls in the pit weren't complaining."

_Smash_. Twiggy dodged this time, and a shower of warm beer rained down upon his tangled pyramid of black dreads.

"Doesn't mean we can't fix your lack of manners now, though," Marilyn switched gears, straddling Twiggy. Marilyn's knees started to bleed ever so slightly as the shards of glass from the beer bottles crunched under them, but if anything, that just egged him on. Every urge in Twiggy's body was telling him to grab onto those hips and watch the slutty shock rocker sit on his cock for half a minute until they both came prematurely from a night of debauchery and teasing, but no. Fuck that. This isn't how this was going to work.

"You don't get shit, Mar."

Marilyn's face contorted through a wild array of emotions, from confused, to angry, to bitter, back to desperate.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Twiggy shook his head. "Seems you've mustered up some courage, huh?" Marilyn licked his bottom lip, anger flashing white hot in his eyes, daring Twiggy to repeat himself.

"Mustard porridge," Twiggy mumbled, and Marilyn took him by the hair, tightening his fist. Twiggy wanted to moan, but that would lose him his position. He had to come out on top here, if he didn't want to end up Marilyn's bitch... in more ways than one. He swallowed.

"You wanna cum? Y-you be a good boy, and at the end of the day, I'll pound you." Twiggy sat up a little higher in the bed, batting Marilyn's hand out of his hair. "Can't cum until then."

Marilyn scoffed. "The fucking audacity... who the fuck do you think you... best fucking friend my left asscheek... acting like my god damn MASTER...." Twiggy gave him that look, that same fucking look from last night that made the singer a little weaker, but as usual, he wasn't done fighting yet. "I demand a little respect, okay?"

"You gonna cry about it?" Twiggy chided, and Marilyn looked like he was about to punch him.

"Fuck you!"

"Not yet. You don't get shit if you throw a tantrum."

Finally, Marilyn squirmed, biting his lip bashfully. "Yes, sir."

_BANG. BANG. BANG._

"NOW!!"

"I'M COMING!" Twiggy groan-whined, forcing his legs to work. Marilyn raised an eyebrow at his choice of words, and Twiggy glared in warning as the singer slipped on his stockings.

* * *

Down on the bus, John had forgiven them for their late morning, as he had no ability whatsoever to hold a grudge. Pogo was passed out on the couch, high on something that obviously wasn't an upper, and Ginger was busy devouring a pack of fuzzy peaches.

"Sorry I was so late," Marilyn explained, lounging on the couch opposite Pogo, "I had three girls up in my room last night, and you have no idea what they can do with a lollipop. This one was on my dick right, the other one's got her tongue up my ass, and the third one is sitting on my face. It's a miracle I didn't suffocate or have a heart attack."

John was only half listening. Ginger was nodding along enthusiastically, but who knows if he ever really listens. Pogo was still sleeping. Twiggy felt an odd rush of hot jealousy from the way Marilyn was describing his fictional escapades last night. He was on the verge of defying the singer and telling everyone how fucked up he had gotten and just what he had begged him to do, but Ginger giggled suddenly.

"I bet you're grateful to Twiggs for starting you off last night then for those girls, if you know what I mean," he grinned, mimicking the blow job. Twiggy could have sworn he saw Marilyn blush.

"It was only for show," John said boredly, flipping the page of a Rolling Stones magazine, "Happens every other night."

"What the fuck do you know, Lowery? You've been with this band for half a year and that's it. So shut your newbie fucking mouth or I'll break something over your head," Twiggy snapped.

He immediately clammed up, shocked at how much malice had come through there. Everyone went quiet, and looked at him, but Twiggy didn't apologize. Why should he? He liked John, and somewhere deep (deep) inside, he felt bad, but hell, it was a bad time. He just avoided Marilyn's surprised look and sulked off to the back of the bus.

"What's gotten into him?" Ginger whispered.

"I guess he didn't get to fuck who he wanted to last night," Marilyn said pointedly, glancing Twiggy's way. The bassist suppressed a groan. Mar was about to make him break his own rule.

* * *

There was no denying Marilyn was not just aroused, but annoyingly horny, though what else was new?

Twiggy was reading a fashion magazine upside down, chic sunglasses seated half-way down his nose as he twitched for some more of whatever he concluded he snorted yesterday. The problem was, he didn't remember what it was, so he couldn't really do anything about it. He just needed a little solitude, time to detox, and...

"Lemme just grab something from the... shelf here..." Marilyn came over, shoving his erection in Twiggy's face where he was sitting as he used the couch as a stepladder. His tall, lean body was flexible as a pole dancer.

Twiggy slapped the singer's thighs away. Marilyn's cock was inches away, and he wanted to fucking taste it again, dammit.

"Oof," Marilyn murmured as he deliberately knocked his crotch into Twiggy's nose, "Sorry, man." Twiggy could only glare. If Marilyn kept pushing him.... "Oh geez... can't... get it..." Marilyn thrust his clothed cock right into Twiggy's lips, and the bassist actually growled. Marilyn smirked down at him, lowering his voice. "Ready to suck on it properly yet, fucker?"

"6 hours left," Twiggy responded, thankful his voice didn't waver.

"We'll see if you last that long," Marilyn smirked.

As usual, the singer was right about a lot of things. One, Twiggy had bad impulse control (but that was just common knowledge). Two, he didn't like having to wait for things. Three, he set horribly unobtainable goals for himself-- _okay, you'll only have one beer tonight. Alright, you've got a curfew of 2 am. Nope, you will not fuck your best friend until you get to Atlanta._

Still. He had to show Marilyn that good things come to boys who wait.

* * *

"Hey, by the way-- I really liked that whole mingling thing we had going on last night," Ginger brought up to Marilyn, who was pacing. "When you were doing Don't Like The Drugs, doing your dance thing on the, like floor there, and you came over to the drum set, and I was like bam bam bam, yknow, it was just so freaking--"

_SMASH._

"Do you ever shut the FUCK up?!" Marilyn blurted. Pogo burst out laughing from his silent dark corner, and John frowned at Marilyn.

"Don't talk to Kenny like that."

"Don't talk to Kenny like that," Marilyn imitated, smashing another glass he'd been drinking out of. "You're such a fucking pussy, John."

John got up, ready to throw down, but Ginger tugged his sleeve, silently pleading with him to let it go. He chewed on his chocolate bar silently for a while, as John glared Marilyn's way, hexing him with all kinds of wordless black magic he totally didn't know. Marilyn could feel the evil eye.

"Jesus, you'd think the two of you are lovers." John gave him the double finger for that.

Twiggy watched in amusement from the back of the bus. The singer could be so hilariously hypocritical, but it was always fun watching the drama.

_Oh. Oh no. Now all that energy would be directed over here._

As if on cue, the redhead came walking back, swinging his hips as he made his way toward the bassist.

"So," Marilyn whispered, "Ready to smash?"

"You're like a dog with a bone," Twiggy complained, then smiled, staring off into space. "Dog with a boner. Heh."

"Jeordie!"

"Look, what do you want me to do?" Twiggy sighed. "The bathroom here is small, I'm not getting in there with you cause you're too tall, like a fucking... sasquatch--"

"Hey..."

"And it'll end with one or both of us bleeding from our noses, not for the reason we'd like to be."

"Speaking of which," Marilyn dangled a little baggie, and Twiggy hesitated. Did he really have zero willpower? Yes. Yes he did. He finally resigned himself to it. He could use the high, which was getting to be a common excuse, but he could deal with his possible drug addiction another day when he wasn't so focused on his dick.

Neither really knew why they went into the cramped bathroom to do it. It was their tour bus-- they could do what they wanted, they'd done much worse, and nobody was about to say shit. Maybe it was just the thrill of doing it like the first time.

As soon as they got into the bathroom though, Marilyn flushed the bag, and locked the door behind Twiggy.

"What the f--"

Oh. Yeah. He forgot the part where Marilyn was a manipulative bastard.

"Just like Satan, I trick you with the apple," he grinned, and slammed his lips to Twiggy's. Twiggy knew there was no resisting this time, so he just let it happen. "You gonna be my Eve?" Marilyn whispered against his lips, reaching down to grope Twiggy, "My original sin, baby?"

Shit. Even during sex he was a poet.

Twiggy moaned as Marilyn's long, slender fingers threaded through his hair. Twiggy separated the two of them. "None of this mother may I shit anymore. You want it?" Marilyn's blood rose as his nostrils flared.

"You know I do."

"Yeah?"

"I need it, and I'm done waiting. Finish what you started," Marilyn growled, and pulled it out. Losing the last of whatever resolve he didn't have, Twiggy dropped to his knees, and let Marilyn put his throbbing cock between his lips, blinking his long eyelashes up at his friend.

"Awww, yeah," Marilyn breathed, "Baby, that's good."

Twiggy hummed, letting the weight of Marilyn's dick sit in his mouth for a moment. He was so fucking mad at himself. He knew he could have lasted. But ever since last night, both knew beneath it all, Twiggy wanted nothing more than to finish this-- whenever and wherever.

Marilyn slid down the wall, and Twiggy immediately crawled between his legs. Marilyn's thighs closed around Twiggy's neck, and for a skinny guy, those thighs were powerful.

"I'm... I'm... Jeord, Jeordie, oh..." Marilyn gasped out, moaning like an absolute whore, but just quiet enough to keep suspicion down. As established, Twiggy had zero self control, and started jacking off while he blew Marilyn. Marilyn didn't care. He just kept fucking his hips up into Twiggy's mouth, chasing the orgasm he deserved yesterday.

_Knock knock knock._

"Hey, um... I don't know who's in there, but, uh... well, I mean, I do know who, but... I have to pee?"

It was Ginger.

"...bad!"

"Go pee in a cup."

"What? Ew, no, ew!"

"You've done worse. You've probably got a piss kink, all drummers do."

"I'm-- that's a COMPLETE fabrication..." Twiggy kept sucking Marilyn's dick. "Guys! You can do coke out here!"

"Ginger, go fuck yourself," Marilyn grumbled.

"Maybe he would, if he could get into the bathroom," John called out. Twiggy giggled, and Marilyn growled.

"Aww, Kenneth Wilson, sitting in a tree, who's he kissing? John Lowrey!"

Twiggy burst into more obnoxious laughter, taking Mar's cock down again. He could imagine how furious John was at this point, but it was in Marilyn's nature to push and push until someone (or something) exploded, and Twiggy loved laughing at other people's expense.

But suddenly, Pogo got up off the couch, opened the bathroom door, opened the toilet lid, and started peeing.

Stunned, Marilyn and Twiggy lay there, Twiggy's mouth full, as John and Ginger looked in at them.

"Oh, oh shi--" Marilyn gasped, and Twiggy suddenly gagged as the singer convulsed and came down his throat.

"Ack," Twiggy coughed, wiping his lips, still staring apprehensively out at their accidental audience. He swallowed, and blinked nervously. "Hi?"

"You owe me fifty bucks," John said to Ginger, eyes wide. Ginger was speechless, and Pogo? Pogo just closed the toilet seat lid, humming to himself, and returned to his seat on the couch, falling back to sleep.

The bus finally pulled up at the hotel in Atlanta. Marilyn and Twiggy got separate rooms, as things had become awkward. John kept smirking at them, Ginger couldn't really meet their eyes, and Pogo... kept asking where the pool was. This hotel didn't have a pool, but was anyone going to tell him that? No.

Twiggy dropped his shit on the bed, wanting to ingest all the drugs in the world, all at once, and never wake up from the coma that would ensue. He wasn't sure of anything anymore. Was Marilyn mad at him? Was Marilyn mad at Pogo? John? Was Marilyn mad at anybody!?! Probably, but he wasn't talking in general terms here.

He hated how dependent on his friend he had become, but there was something beneath it all. It wasn't just sex. Well, Twiggy had almost gotten off from sucking Marilyn's dick, but apparently, he wasn't as much of an exhibitionist as his friend.

_Fucking slut_. God, he just wanted to bruise America's public enemy number one with a good pounding, tug on his picture perfect, pretty hair and tell him what a slut he was. But imagining that didn't make him any more aroused-- it just made him feel guilty.

_He's probably laughing at you. He does shit like that for fun, he messes with people's feelings. It doesn't matter how long you've been friends-- he just needed a hole, and he found one. Now he's probably gonna kick you out of the band and ignore you, or worse... act like everything is as it should be._

* * *

The frontman clenched and unclenched his fists as he left his hotel room. Pogo appeared out of the elevator.

"I found the pool," he told Marilyn, which worried him somewhat, but if their keyboardist had found some way to entertain himself that wasn't pyrotechnic in nature, then that was one evening in Georgia prison they could avoid. An elderly lady got into the elevator, and Marilyn didn't care enough to see if she was alright after the apparent heart attack she suffered from seeing Pogo in there. He was a scary fucker, even without makeup, Marilyn would admit.

Twiggy was slingshotted from his mental cloud of depressive abyss when a knock sounded on his door. It was probably John or Ginger coming to see if he was alright or something, which hurt his heart a little after how shitty he had been to both of them earlier. He had a habit of going along with whatever Marilyn was doing, even if it meant being cruel, and that was another thing on the list of things he hated about himself. He wasn't a cruel person. Marilyn, well... he was just selfish, but what rock star wasn't?

Fuck, Twiggy wanted to cry again. He had known Marilyn for so many years, since they were both just Brian and Jeordie, two zit faced kids who couldn't get laid if their lives depended on it. Before either of them were rockstars, or got depressed in thousand dollar hotel rooms because they did too much blow. It was ridiculous, all of it, but neither wanted to stop, and now was not a good time in his life to suddenly realize he had feelings for his stupid asshole best friend.

Another, more insistent knock.

"Avocado," was the only thing Twiggy could manage out, and Marilyn somehow knew that meant ‘come in’. He shut the door, and leaned against it. Twiggy could see the tall figure by the door, could tell who it was, and he didn't want to turn around. Silence lingered for longer than was comfortable, and finally Marilyn was the first to speak.

"Are you mad that the guys saw us?"

"I want hot chocolate."

"Sit the fuck down and stop being a hairbrain for a minute, you're not in a fucking interview, you don't have to make yourself look like a brain-dead fuckwit in front of me because I know you've got feelings and opinions, so why don't you just FUCKING SAY WHAT YOU HAVE TO SAY?"

"FUCK YOU, BRIAN!" Twiggy blurted, "I'm not like you! Okay?! I can't just be who I am, I can't just walk out and not give a fuck, I'm a normal human being. I have a stage persona, and I have me, and it's nice to lose me once and a while, but sometimes I miss being able to think about what I do and what I want." He gestured to the table, where a credit card and pouch were lying, waiting. "Coke and shit, all this fucking dope, it keeps me okay. Have you ever been okay, Brian?!" Twiggy sniffed, realizing there were tears running down his cheek.

"Yeah," Marilyn murmured, "When I'm around you."

Another long pause.

"You should be an actor. You're really good."

"You think I would say sappy bullshit like that if I didn't mean it?" Marilyn snapped, "I mean Christ, I have appearances to keep up."

"Not in here you don't."

The words hung heavy in the air. Marilyn walked over to the bed, and wordlessly, he slipped into Twiggy's lap, straddling him.

"Look. What if we talked about our feelings in the morning, over hot chocolate?" Marilyn whispered.

"Why, so you can tell the guys and laugh at me?" Twiggy moped, letting his arms slide around Marilyn's middle wearily. Marilyn looked hurt.

"I'd never do that. I trust you more than any of them. I thought you trusted me."

"I do," Twiggy sighed.

"It's not my fault they saw us."

"I know. I guess I just envy your confidence. I'm projecting."

"How very Freudian of you."

"Yeah."

"You know what else is Freudian?"

"What?"

"Dicks and stuff."

Twiggy had to burst out laughing, and Marilyn grinned, reaching into Twiggy's pants, beginning to rub Twiggy's length up and down, twist, thumb over the head, repeat. "Fuck, Mar," Twiggy whispered, "Mar, I want to fuck the shit out of you."

"You wanna cum in my ass?" Marilyn groaned, and Twiggy bit his lip hard.

"Y-yes, but don't say that while stroking my dick, or I'll be using my fingers in you only." This must have been a sexy thought for Marilyn, as his eyes widened and nostrils flared. Still, he remained rational.

"You can finger me any other time, Twiggs. Right now we have a bed to ourselves, and should really take advantage of it."

"Yeah," Twiggy agreed, and moaned as he reached down to help Marilyn get his pants down. Twiggy frowned. "Hey... isn't it like... illegal for two guys to fuck in Georgia or something?"

"Nah, 1998 Powell vs Georgia fixed that, last year," Marilyn whispered, "Besides, do you think I give a royal shit if Georgia disapproves of who I screw?" He popped a bottle of lube he had in his pocket, slathering his fingers with it.

"Yeah," Twiggy laughed, "Fuck Georgia."

"Fuck homophobia," Marilyn continued, getting on all fours and yanking down his briefs, "Gay sex rights."

"Gay sex rights," Twiggy nodded, practically drooling over the sight of Marilyn's presented ass, the singer's fingers disappearing in and out as he messily prepared himself.

"Fuck me with your gay rights, Twiggs," Marilyn moaned, curling his fingers deeper. Twiggy grinned, licking his lips.

"I'll fuck the gay rights right out of you."

"Into me. Give em to me."

"They're going in," Twiggy muttered, sliding in, "Oh, they're in..."

"All the way?"

"Really deep. Very... very deep, oh my god, your ego really doesn't need to hear this, but your ass is a gift."

"Thanks, I have been told that before."

"Oh," Twiggy whispered, slouching forward with every thrust. He wasn't going to last if Marilyn kept making those loud, slutty noises. "You sound like a pornstar," Twiggy told him.

"Thank you."

"Now fuck yourself good, back on this cock."

Marilyn shuddered as Twiggy switched to the dominant, and the singer arched his back. Twiggy's hand tangled in his hair, and a sharp hand jerked him back.

"Safe word?"

"Willy Wonka."

Twiggy didn't even question it (he just counted his lucky stars it wasn't something like shitty titty or pumpkin semen). He just wrapped his hands around Mar's neck, and it was awe-inspiring to watch the intimidating singer fall to pieces, begging like a slut.

"Fuck, fuck, Jeordie, fuck me with your big cock and choke me like the little harlot I am."

Hearing that in his friend's low, growling voice, Twiggy had to control his orgasm, but oh-- oh, Marilyn was close too.

"You've been teasing me all day,” he told the singer, “You know what you deserve? You deserve to watch me cum all over your pretty face while I use you to get off, get what I've needed all day from you. Awfully fucking nice for you, that this’ll be your second orgasm."

"You fucker, you left me hard during the show when you decided you wanted to eat my--"

Twiggy tugged his hair back. "What was that?"

"Nothing, sir."

_Mmm._ He had to fight not to finish from that alone. He wouldn't have to wait long, though-- with a string of curses and a shout of his friend's name, Marilyn came in Twiggy's hand. Twiggy lost control, mumbling in gibberish as his eyes rolled back.

Marilyn flipped over, legs spread eagle like he was doing a yoga pose. Twiggy was still reeling, head in the clouds and still very much out of it.

"That felt better than the drugs, huh?” Marilyn said. Twiggy just collapsed on top of the singer.

The show that night was legendary. The Dope Show began with Marilyn spanking Twiggy's ass, and Twiggy should've really known better than to try and do his job when Marilyn was in a mischievous mood.

_"The drugs, they say, are made right here in Georgia. We love your face, we'd really like to sell you,"_ Marilyn sang, prancing over to his side of the stage. _"The cops and queers..."_ Marilyn did NOT just point at Twiggy, _"Make good looking models."_ He shook his ass in Twiggy's face, and Twiggy knew beyond all doubt that he was going to wreck that later, if Marilyn didn't wreck him first.


End file.
